Requiem
by Sailorcelestial
Summary: Though the day was gloomy, there was a crowd in the cemetery. Rain pattered down on umbrellas or raincoats, but not a single person moved to leave.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **I gave in a while ago. :sighs: I just love _Gravitation._ There is no reason why. Anyways, I'm hoping this won't turn into something huge. I'm thinking maybe five chapters at MOST, probably less. Enjoy.

**Thankies:** All those who were patient with me as I bemoaned my inexplicable love for this series.

**Disclaimers:** _Gravitation_ and all related character belong to Murakami Maki, not me.

Requiem

Chapter One - For the Devil

Though the day was gloomy, there was a crowd in the cemetery. Rain pattered down on umbrellas or raincoats, but not a single person moved to leave. Sobs could be heard from one end of the crowd to the other, though they came only from the people who attended for the sole reason that they wanted to be part of the event. Those few who stood near the grave were silent. As the urn went into the ground, however, the woman at the forefront finally did break down, lowering her face into her hands. Her genuine grief was lost in the noise of those false mourners, and those standing near her slipped arms around her shoulders to comfort her in what little way they could. This had been, after all, her son.

Strange, how so many people came out of the woodwork at the funeral of a celebrity. How could these random "mourners" ever think they would be welcome? They hadn't known him in life except as a face on TV or a voice on the radio. They thought hearing his voice over and over again on the CDs they bought made them close to the one they admired, or even obsessed about. Some had the gall to wear t-shirts with his face and name on them to the funeral, as though doing so showed as much or more respect than his true family and friends.

Eiri hated them all. They had no business here, not one mindless one of them. All of them would put on a good show of grief, then go home and sift through their collection to find a new band to fawn over. A new musical fad would come, and Shindou Shuichi would be forgotten.

The writer turned his head to look at the close group nearby, Shuichi's family and real friends. His sister stood next to the crying woman, trying as best she could to comfort her mother. Eiri only met the woman once or twice, but she and her son were cut from the same material, and though she could be overdramatic, these tears she now shed for her son were real. On her other side stood Hiro, sunglasses on despite the rain, not bothering with an umbrella. His long red hair had long gone dark with wet, but he didn't seem to care. He just looked down on the grave where his best friend had been reduced to an urn of ashes. If he cried, no one would ever know.

Eiri turned away from them. With his coat and umbrella hiding him from those who were barely paying attention anyway, Yuki Eiri threaded his way slowly through the crowd of people who seemed to have forgotten Shindou Shuichi's love affair with a male romance writer. How could Shuichi's male lover be more important than his death?

People shifted around the quiet writer as he walked through them. They were too preoccupied by their own lives and supposed pain to stop him from leaving. Hordes of teenage girls and boys parted to allow Eiri through, and he was surprised to see some of the people were older, not teenagers at all. Well, idiocy wasn't just for the young, he supposed.

His car wasn't far from the cemetery gates. He slipped inside and rolled the window down, lighting up a cigarette. Water dripped from the roof down and through the window, but Eiri ignored it, flicking his ashes into the wet street. Smoke drifted from his mouth and nostrils as he watched the people milled around the cemetery a moment longer. Idiots. Every freaking one of them. He snorted, shaking his head, then turned the key in the ignition and put the car in drive. The car maneuvered well, and in moments Eiri headed through Tokyo toward his and Shuichi's home. He and Shuichi shared the apartment together long enough, Eiri could no longer think of it as just his home. He couldn't think of his life without Shuichi.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself as the road flew beneath the tires of his car. When had the little moron become such a large part of him? When did it happen that Shuichi's pain hurt him? What was it about seeing that urn that burned him inside?

As he drove, his mind slid back to a week before.

* * *

All of Japan watched as Bad Luck made their concert debut, their first real concert headlining. Someone else was the opening act for once. Shuichi spent an hour before leaving in the bathroom, puking himself dry from nerves. Eiri finally had to threaten to leave him and tell Hiro he'd jumped off Tokyo Tower to get him to come out.

"ALL RIGHT!" Shuichi bellowed as he slammed the bathroom door open, pulling his shirt on over his head. "LET'S DO THIS THING!" The young man's eyes glimmered with excitement, and Eiri felt like laughing. He didn't, for several reasons, including the strangest desire not to hurt Shuichi's feelings for once. So he just snatched up his own coat and his keys and opened the door. Shuichi bounded energetically outside, whooped as he leaped in the air, and took off towards the car. Eiri couldn't help it. He smiled as he locked the door while his back was turned and Shuichi couldn't see him. "Come ON, Yuki! We're going to be late and I SO don't want to see what K is gonna do to me if I'm late! He'll probably put a bomb in my dressing room! It's a miracle he hasn't already kidnapped me!"

"Get in the car." Eiri picked the car key out from the rest as he walked over to the car himself, waiting until Shuichi bounced around to the passenger side before getting in himself. When the young man was in the seat with his seatbelt buckled, Eiri took off at breakneck speed. For once, Shuichi didn't complain about the speed, probably because it was either speed or die, if he was late and K got his hands on him. Hmph. At least the crazy bastard was good for something.

"Are you staying, Yuki?"

"Hm?" Eiri glanced to the young man in the passenger seat. Shuichi wore that annoying, big-eyed begging look where his face nearly melted with crocodile tears. Eiri was about to snap something nasty, when he remembered what Hiro told him yesterday.

Shuichi's happiness depends on you, you know. Hell, even his singing depends on you. One nasty word from you, and he can't sing worth shit.

Eiri sighed. If the concert was ruined because of him, K just might put a bomb in the car to get rid of the both of them in one fell swoop. Besides. Seeing Shuichi angry and upset because of him . . . well, it wasn't as amusing as it used to be.

"Yeah, sure. I'll stay. Whatever you want."

"YUUUUUKIII!"

"Holy Hell, stay on your side of the car, you moron, unless you WANT to make us crash before we get there!"

"Sorry, Yuki!"

Eiri growled something in response, he never could remember what. Then he glanced over to Shuichi again to make sure he hadn't devastated the little shit and ruined the concert for everyone.

Shuichi wasn't even looking at him anymore. The kid had his face turned away from Eiri, toward the window. Eiri frowned, wondering if Shuichi might really be crying. Somehow, that thought didn't sit well with him, so he glanced again. No, no tears. He guessed Shuichi was used to being called a moron by now. Still . . . No reaction at all. Wait. After a third glance, Eiri saw the slight tilt of lips that signified a smile. Shuichi watched the passing buildings outside, and he smiled.

It made Eiri smile.

Just a little one, and it was long gone by the time they arrived at the concert hall. He came to a stop by the back door to let Shuichi in, and the singer turned to hug him again. This time, Eiri didn't fight him, and put one arm around Shuichi's waist.

"Thanks," he murmured into Eiri's shirt.

"For what?" What the Hell could Shuichi be thanking him for?

"For bringing me here. For staying. For being you." Shuichi pulled away, shifting to his knees on the front seat. His eyes, the eyes that always were the most expressive, charismatic part of him while on stage, speared Eiri with a look he couldn't quite decipher. Then he leaned over, kissing Eiri so gently and so briefly, the writer barely felt the touch on his lips. Then Shuichi was gone, speeding inside at least as fast as Eiri had driven.

Eiri lifted a hand to his lips, and shivered slightly with . . . what was it? He felt strange. His eyes lifted to follow the passage of his lover into the building, and though his lips tingled happily with the brief memory of Shuichi's, a chill traveled down his spine.

He pushed it from his mind, driving back out to the parking lot. Even with Shuichi being just barely in time, they were still an hour early for the actual concert, and Eiri had time to sit in the car and smoke several cigarettes. Three cigarettes later, cars started pouring into the parking lot, carloads of zealous fans who wore Bad Luck t-shirts, several of them bearing Shuichi's image alone. Eiri snorted. If only they knew the real Shuichi. Would they still consider him the god they seemed all too eager to turn him into?

Three more cigarettes later, Eiri slipped on his sunglasses and left the car, melting silently into the crowd of teenagers and young adults who idolized his young lover. He didn't even have to show a ticket or backstage pass at the door; the guards on duty knew him on sight by now. Only a few people noticed, and their curious murmurs followed Eiri in as he passed through the doors.

He sat in the back. The stage might be far away, but he saw Shuichi every day up close, and this way he could slip out if things got too chaotic with the unwashed masses. Though there were only ten minutes left until show time, the writer found himself annoyed with the bustle and noise, the yelling kids as they found each other and screamed their delight at oh my God, FINALLY seeing Bad Luck in person. Asking himself over and over again if Shuichi were really worth this crap, somehow Eiri managed to sit through those ten minutes until the house lights faded and the crowd mercifully went silent in anticipation.

There was no announcer. Bad Luck announced themselves with the sudden blast of a guitar from darkness and Shuichi's voice drifting out over the crowd. In that moment, Eiri knew this was worth anything and everything. Even though the screams of the adolescents began again right after Shuichi's song started, Eiri heard none of it. He heard only Shuichi. The song wasn't one of his favorites. Hell, the lyrics still weren't worth a shit. It didn't matter, though, not with Shuichi's smooth, rich voice giving the words life.

With the music pounding through the walls and floor, the seat and Eiri's very body, an hour passed by without the writer even noticing. Before he realized, Hiro began the first notes of Bad Luck's newest song, something a little out of character for them. A ballad of sorts, something just slightly depressing, with a hint of hope at the end. Shuichi showed Eiri the lyrics weeks ago, and though he couldn't bring himself to praise them outright, Eiri knew this song was the best thing Shuichi had ever written. He knew it was a testament to them, an ode to their relationship, and something Shuichi had to fight with K and Tohma and everyone at N-G to convince them it wasn't too much for Bad Luck's fans.

He'd won, and he'd been right, and the way the crowd sang along with him and swayed to the music, the way some of them cried as they tried to sing proved it.

With a hollow heart I search the night for you.

Eiri would always remember that one line.

A single sound cut through the cheers and sobs of the crowd, turning them all silent. Even Eiri found his heart beating fast, searching the dark concert hall wondering what the Hell just happened. That sounded like a gunshot, but who could bring a gun to a concert, and why would they?

"SHUICHI!"

Eiri stood from his seat, Hiro's voice bringing him back to focus on the stage. Shuichi stumbled back from the microphone. A dark stain began to spread over the yellow shirt he wore, a stain of a deep red-black. Just before Hiro reached him, another shot broke the audience's paralysis. Screams rose from the sea of people as blood exploded from Shuichi's head over Hiro and the singer fell to the stage floor.

Hiro stood frozen on stage. Eiri stood frozen in the back of the audience. As he watched blood spread over the wooden stage from Shuichi's motionless body, Eiri had one thought.

I did it all over again.

* * *

A week later, the Eiri driving back from the cemetery knew better. His therapist had him in sessions every day, afraid he would backslide if she didn't. Her fear was justified, he knew, based on the panic attack he'd had at the concert hall, unable to either go to his lover or go searching for the bastard who shot him. All he could do then was think over and over again about how he'd killed someone else he cared about. It didn't matter the gun wasn't in his hands, that he didn't pull the trigger and really had nothing to do with it, it was still somehow him who killed Shuichi.

Oh, but he was a strong, stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and he'd been able to think through his initial reaction since then. Yesterday, his therapist dismissed him with a sigh of relief and told him not to come back until the regular time next Friday. She also ordered him to attend the funeral. She knew him well enough to know he'd rather avoid the crowd and the public grief.

You need this, Uesugi-san. You need to see the urn and the grave. Letting go has been your biggest issue, so in this case you need to do everything you can to help yourself let go.

"Letting go," he murmured to his empty car as he parked outside his apartment. "Right." Slamming the door behind him, Eiri sighed on his way to the door. Okay, funeral done and over with. Maybe life could go back to some semblance of normal.

Just as he finished that thought, the cell phone in his pocket rang with the tone Shuichi programmed it to play. Eiri stopped just outside his door, closing his eyes against the sudden and inexplicable pain in his chest. With the phone still ringing in his ears, Eiri leaned his forehead on the door, ignoring it as best he could and waiting for it to go to voice mail. The ringing stopped, but before he could take a deep breath, it began again. He gritted his teeth and took the phone from his pocket, looking at the screen and the name flashing there. Tohma. What the hell did Tohma want right now? Tempted as he was to put the phone on silent, Eiri knew Tohma would get hold of him somehow if he was that determined.

"What?" he snapped into the phone.

"Are you properly purged of grief, Eiri?" God, that calm, pleasant voice of Tohma's irritated him. Eiri wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the smiling punk. Nevermind Tohma was one of the few who could ever claim to understand him.

"Do you have to be such a bastard right now?"

"I just thought I should warn you."

"Warn me about what?" Eiri sighed, wishing not for the first time Tohma could find it in himself to have some semblance of a heart. A false one would do every once in a while.

"I've decided to keep it a surprise instead. Except this part: I'm inside."

"Good for you. Your office is a spectacular place from which to view the world."

"No, I mean your apartment."

Eiri groaned. "This better not be another one of your attempts to seduce me. I'm not interested, I've never been interested, I never will be interested and I don't give a shit who you are, Tohma, I WILL throw you out on your ass."

"Like you threw Shuichi-kun out, oh how many times was it? Three? More?" The gentle, heartless amusement in Tohma's voice brought forth a growl from the man standing outside the door.

"Don't talk about him. You put him through a lot of shit, and if your goddamned security had been better--"

"Therapy must be going well. You've gone from blaming yourself to blaming me. Very good, Eiri. Now, why don't you come up and see what I have for you?" The line went dead, giving Eiri two choices. Either he could camp outside until Tohma left, or he could go inside and see what the manipulative bastard had in store for him.

As Tohma wasn't likely to leave until he'd gotten what he wanted, Eiri heaved a growling sigh and opened the door. He needed to go inside anyway. He needed to pack up Shuichi's things to give back to his family. It wasn't something he wanted to do, oddly enough, but he knew he should. Perhaps there were one or two things he would keep . . . .

Tohma waited for him in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand and one of his most annoyingly pleasant smiles plastered on his face. From somewhere else in the apartment came a strange sound, one Eiri couldn't quite place. It was muffled and quiet, and sounded like a low, steady beep. Something about that sound made Eiri's heart skip, but with Tohma sitting there watching him, he wasn't certain whether it was a skip of joy or dread.

"I have quite the surprise for you, Eiri."

End Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2: For the Chariot

**Author's Notes:** Hey, you guys know what's weird? I actually finished this chapter a while ago, but for some reason never posted it. O.o Go figure. Here you go!

**Disclaimers:**_Gravitation_ and all related characters belong not to me, thank the gods, but to Murakami Maki.

**Requiem**

Chapter Two - For the Chariot

Hiro sighed as he tossed the last bag in the back of his car. The car he'd bought two days ago with his savings and the money from selling his motorcycle. He couldn't see sticking around here much longer, and though traveling Japan on a motorcycle might make for an interesting adventure, he also didn't fancy starving to death or working as a male stripper in exchange for food and other necessities. So, little piece of crap that it was, this car would be his best friend for the next who-knew-how-long.

"Hiroshi-san, are you sure about this?" Ayaka stood a few feet away, holding the keys he'd handed her as though continuing to hold them would keep him here. He looked at her, though looking at her hurt just a little, and shrugged, slamming the trunk of the car shut.

"Can't stay here." Dear God, he was becoming as reticent as Yuki. Hiro sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and tried again. "Ayaka-san, this place is where Shuichi and I grew up together. Where we discovered music together, where we practiced together. This is where we got our record deal and where everything good that ever happened, happened because we were together." Stopping to think on that, Hiro gave a small smile. "No, it happened because of Shuichi, but I was there with him. I can't stay. Hopefully I'll be able to come back soon, but right now I just can't stay." He looked at her again, not at all ashamed to put all the pain and desperation he felt into his eyes.

Ayaka sighed, then handed over the keys. Hiro wasn't fooled, he could see the tears in her eyes. They almost did make him want to stay, just to wipe them away. He did love her, more than he loved anyone. But the ghost of his best friend hovered over every memory in Tokyo, and he had to get the hell out.

"I'm sorry, Ayaka-san," he said quietly as he took the keys from her, "but if I stay here I'm going to go insane."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've loved an insane man."

Their eyes caught each other. Neither of them had said the words before this moment, Hiro because he could never be sure she wouldn't go back to pining for Yuki. Now, though, her words gave him an opening he wasn't sure he wanted to take just before leaving Tokyo indefinitely. Ayaka smiled at him, stepped forward, and took the moment herself.

"Hiroshi-san . . . Hiro, I've loved two men in my life. The first finally found happiness, and that happiness didn't involve me. The second man I love, he's in pain right now, pain I can't do anything about. It seems I'm destined to be helpless to help the men I love." She swallowed, the muscles in her neck working to push back the sorrow he saw in her eyes. "I love you, Hiro, and I'll wait as long as my heart can stand it for you to find the peace you need."

"I'll visit you when I get to Kyoto." He promised this quietly, stepping closer to her. He wasn't sure he dared do anything else yet.

"Was Kyoto in your traveling plans?"

"It is now. I promise. I don't know when, but I'll be there."

"Good." Ayaka took another step, closing the last of the distance between them, and lifted herself on her toes to press her lips to his. It was a brief kiss, gentle and so very sweet. Hiro barely tasted her before she pulled away, her face bright with embarrassment but her eyes with something else. "Then I'll be waiting for you."

Before he could change his mind and end up making them both miserable, Hiro turned from her and got in the car. The keys in his shaking hand jingled a little before he managed to fit the proper one in the ignition. He paused only long enough to give Ayaka a last glance through the window, then he started the car, put it in gear, and drove off to whatever peace he could find on the road.

* * *

Eiri stared down at Tohma, trying to decide on the safest course of action. One could never be quite sure with Seguchi Tohma, not even the world famous Yuki Eiri. In the end, Eiri sat down in a chair across from the couch, crossed his legs and folded his hands together in his lap. He said nothing, merely watched Tohma, waiting. Only whatever gods make a joke of humanity knew how long this would last if Tohma were in a real mood, but Eiri was in no mood to humor him today, not this far.

Perhaps Tohma sensed this, for it took little time for him to chuckle and put his wine glass carefully on the coffee table. "Goodness, Eiri, you do look gloomy. I had hoped to cheer you up a bit, but it looks as though you might be determined to be unhappy today."

"What do you expect? I'm not like you. I don't smile in the face of all adversity."

"Ah yes, and your lover's funeral was today, and that could be considered adversity, yes?"

Eiri felt his patience going paper-thin, but managed to keep his temper under control. "Despite outward appearances and unlike you, I have a heart."

"Ouch," Tohma winced and put his hand to his heart, though his eyes remained amused, "you wound me, Eiri, truly you do. You know I only have you and your happiness in mind with everything I do."

"Bullshit."

"All right, perhaps not entirely true, but not entirely bullshit either." Now, Tohma rose from the couch and motioned for Eiri to follow him as he set off towards the extra bedroom. Eiri didn't move. Tohma reached the door and opened it, letting the soft beeping Eiri heard before become slightly louder without the door for buffer. He looked back, and seeing Eiri still firmly in the chair, sighed. "Eiri, please. Trust me for once, this is something you need and will want to see."

Debating with himself over whether or not to actually trust Tohma, Eiri nonetheless stood, going to the door and the man standing there.

The room was rather small. Before today it had been relatively empty, holding only a few extra pieces of furniture. As Eiri and Shuichi shared the master bedroom and neither had friends or family who wanted to visit long enough to put a guest bedroom to use, they never actually used the room for anything except storage. Eiri could not imagine what Tohma did with the room, or what he had put in there that could emit that soft, vaguely and disturbingly familiar beep.

"If I find some elaborate and expensive sex toy in there, your ass is mine, and not in a good way."

Still, Tohma found room to be amused. "As much as I would like to test that theory, sadly there is no sex toy in that room, elaborate or otherwise."

"Good." Giving the pale-haired man a glare, Eiri passed Tohma and walked over the threshold of the little-used room. Where he stopped dead in his tracks. "Kami-sama . . . ."

"Calling to God was never your specialty," Tohma murmured from behind him.

In that room, cleared of all excess furniture, there was now only a sterile hospital bed, heart-monitoring equipment, and an IV unit. Eiri, his breath heavy from being held inside him, took a step closer, then another and another until his steps brought him to the side of that bed. The unconscious person's head hid in a bandage and the face was swollen and horribly bruised, though the bruise had begun to turn greenish and yellow on the edges. A ventilator tube obscured the bottom half of their face, distorting the mouth. Still, despite all the deformities, Eiri knew that face. Such a precious face, one he'd thought he would never see again. Those lips, the ones that brushed his so gently and lightly that day, those lips Eiri also knew.

Looking up from Shuichi's battered, sleeping face, Eiri couldn't even bring himself to feel ashamed as his voice cracked and broke. "Wh-What's going on?"

Tohma leaned against the door, his head resting on the doorframe and his arms crossed. The amusement died from his expression. "The first bullet came close to his heart, dangerously close. If not for the brilliant surgeons I paid, it would have killed him anyway. The second bullet didn't penetrate his skull. It came close, and its speed as it flew past his head helped. Imagine the spinning bullet carving a gouge across his skin all the way to the skull as it passed. After that, it didn't even have the momentum to strike the wall behind him. My investigators found the bullet on the stage floor before the police arrived."

So much information, but Eiri took it in and processed it with the mind of an author who has researched any number of subjects for his books. His gaze fell back down to Shuichi, to the bruise that marked the passage of the near-deadly bullet.

"If it didn't penetrate his skull, why is he . . . ."

"In a coma? It seems he did flat line on the table for quite some time. The surgeons nearly gave up on him. I was told, however, that just before the head surgeon could call the time, his heart suddenly started again, and his vitals returned." Tohma's footsteps announced his entry into the room. "It seems a genuine miracle, doesn't it? Still, being clinically dead for so long seems to have caught him in this comatose state." A hand on Eiri's shoulder, gentle yet firm. "You must understand, Eiri, that if he wakes--"

"When."

"Of course. When he wakes, he may not be the same. The doctor's can't be certain there wasn't some permanent damage done by the lack of oxygen to his brain."

Eiri swallowed. He tried to imagine a Shuichi who wasn't Shuichi, tried to imagine his life now without the ever-smiling boy. What if Shuichi woke and really wasn't himself? What if he woke and looked on Eiri without seeing him or without knowing him?

_What if he IS himself?_

That thought silenced all others, an Eiri found himself clutching Shuichi's limp hand. Before Shuichi, he had been in danger of losing himself, falling through an oblivion of his own making. He thought he'd wanted that, to just be alone forever, to forget his past and present and ignore the possibility of a future. Then came Shuichi. Shuichi, who refused to let him sink, who forcibly dragged Eiri from his personal Hell back to the world. Shuichi, who tried but in the end never could give up on him.

How could Eiri give up on Shuichi, then?

"I assume you brought him here for a reason," Eiri finally said to Tohma.

"Yes. You must know I am inclined to keep the secret of Shuichi's survival."

"The go-ahead for the funeral was a tip-off."

"It seems rather pointless to allow the general population to know he survived if he is comatose, and again when he wakes, if he isn't himself." Tohma's eyes settled on the prone form on the bed as he spoke, nothing but clinical, professional detachment in those eyes for Shuichi. "When he wakes, if he is Shuichi, then we can work on what to do next."

"You mean you can capitalize on the publicity of Shuichi's public return from the dead." Eiri knew Tohma, knew him all too well and how his ruthless mind worked. Nothing in the world was sacred to him, nothing at all. "When he wakes, and when he recovers enough to discuss the matter, it will be his decision what to do, not yours."

"Eiri--"

"No, Tohma." Eiri did not let go of Shuichi's hand, merely raised his eyes to the musician's, letting them be as cold, as unfeeling as they had ever been to his lover, his own lover. "You no longer control Shuichi's life, if you ever really did." He felt his lips curling in a smirk. "Shuichi always did have that way of getting around what you wanted for him, even knowing nothing about your manipulation. He always managed to do things his own way, and that grates at you, doesn't it? The only reason you can control him now is because he's in a coma."

Tohma's face paled as Eiri spoke, but his expression didn't change. If anyone could rival Eiri in the area of frigidity, it was Tohma. The president of N-G did so now, crossing his arms and giving Eiri an artic glare.

"So are you going to go off and announce Shuichi's survival to the world on public television, like you announced your love affair with him?"

"No." Eiri didn't let that barb affect him. Announcing his relationship with the young singer had been the best thing Eiri ever did, not knowing it at the time. "You'll get your intrigue, Tohma, at least that far, but know I'm not doing it because it's what you want. I'm doing it because I'm going to take care of Shuichi and I don't want idiotic fangirls beating down my doors. So to the outside world, Shindou Shuichi will remain dead. He will remain dead until Shuichi himself decides he wants to return to life, and if you try any of your bullshit to force his hand, I will kill you."

That made Tohma's mask break, and the young man stumbled back at the tone of Eiri's voice. Eiri meant it, he meant every word, and he knew Tohma knew. Nothing in the world, nothing and no one, was more important to Eiri now than Shuichi. Shuichi once let himself be raped and humiliated to spare Eiri pain, and now Eiri would do anything in order to offer his lover the same protection.

"Get out, Tohma."

Eiri turned his attention back to Shuichi, and when Tohma finally decided to obey his order, he didn't know.

End Chapter Two.


End file.
